A brilliant filth of a writer clogs my mind today
King droog of the desolate soul
The seedy caravan stains every slice of magic
His own semblance of his style
He gargles deep with fuel others sip so timid
Sad and lonely fascination proud

Peacock sings the song to me
The poet raptures dusty dreams
He never fails to stimulate the fashion of a heart's religion
A tangled mass of wild schemes
Peacock sings the song to me
He never fails to stimulate the fashion of a heart's religion

Come aboard a ship alive with weeds through the floor
Blues command the waves to sway
Try and nab some dreams that were lost way close to home
A pirate's work is never done

Gamblin' behind, the red light fluid's stormin' fierce
He'll burn the palette, palette sacrifice

Paint me a picture with a blessed touch of life
It's a fantastic roll of silver snake eyes
He'll glide across the felt in splendid disarray
Once he smacks the wall he'll only turn away
Armed with a gutter map and spirits in a glass
Ride the tail of slender wails but he's never last

This gypsy's not hip to praise, I doubt it crossed his mind
Plastic paupers burn in time
Appearance smells of tortured smiles but the inside's worse
Kinetic scribble of his fate
You'll radiate sly and reside in inspiration
'Til your last addiction